Sunday, 19 June 2011


Today is  a writing day and a re-blogging day. A little bit of inspiration as I sit down to ponder Joyce and attempt to do him justice on a new page.  There is little room for a meaningless sentence about Joyce, and so I marvel at how I manage to create so many.  Thank god for editing, balconies, tea (teateateatea) and the tam tam drums in the distance.

His soul had approached the region where dwell the vast hosts of the dead. He was conscious of, but could not apprehend, their wayward flickering existence. His own identity was fading out into a grey impalpable world: the solid world itself which the dead had one time lived in was dissolving and dwindling.


Happy Sunday people.  

No comments:

Post a Comment